


Life Doesn't Usually Work The Way You Want It To

by Anonymous



Category: Naruto, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV), 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, I tag shipping but honestly it's not that much, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, OOC Itachi, Somewhat, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Violence, but not really, it's not planned or anything, kind of, rated M for violent themes not for smut I promise, this is itachi so expect a somewhat blasé attitude toward murder, well more like crack treated quarter-seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:55:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27023137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: I didn’t expect to survive.When I saw the name of my target, I knew that my second life was coming to an end. Twenty-seven years was a good amount of time, and I was sick of torturing myself in a miserably convoluted way.. . .But then I didn't die, so can anyone tell me what I should do now? This is kind of surprising.
Relationships: Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén/Uchiha Itachi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22
Collections: Anonymous





	Life Doesn't Usually Work The Way You Want It To

**Author's Note:**

> The ship literally no one asks for. And I do mean literally. But I gotta get this out there. Yes, it's a crossover. Itachi is almost nothing like his canon self, just a warning. But he's been dead and his past life is like a set of distant memories for him, so he does have reasons to be different than he used to be. Enjoy!

I didn’t expect to survive. 

When I saw the name of my target, I knew that my second life was coming to an end. Twenty-seven years was a good amount of time, and I was sick of torturing myself in a miserably convoluted way. That I still chose to bloody my hands, that I still fell into this path of assassination despite my true beliefs — wasn’t that punishment enough? How much should I be responsible for the actions of a man who died? How many of his sins should I bear? 

I accepted the assignment. Then, I prepared. 

Cultivation or not, shinobi or not, the world remained the same. Desire begets suffering. People were greedy, and people were ignorant. One minute everyone was bashing on the infamous Yiling Patriarch and the next they were singing to honor him. It sickened me to see how easy it was for societal expectations to blunt minds and blur reality. Now, the Gusu Lan sect was the center of attention. Oh yes, the Second Jade was getting married — to a man, no less! To the Yiling Patriarch, could you believe! Oh yes, the First Jade had gone into seclusion, haven’t you heard? Just like his father, just like his great-grandfather! Oh yes, definitely a curse somewhere there. The Nie had their qi deviations, and the Lan had their seclusions. 

Gusu Lan various barriers were a sight to behold. After the burning, Lan cultivators became even more paranoid and set up countless failsafes. To approach my target, the only way was to blend in. I applied for a job as a cook. I was accepted rather quickly. Cultivators underestimated civilians. We lived in separate spheres most of the time, and cultivators can be horrendously ignorant of commoners’ news at times. They were more likely to be in touch with each other and the supernatural. I didn’t judge, of course. In my first life, civilians and shinobi’s relationship was the same. 

This time, my status aided me. 

Weeks passed. I performed my job well and slowly rose through the ranks. The young cultivators liked me because I would deliberately leave snacks out in the open. If I thought my old family was stuck up — well, these people were even worse. Four thousand rules? Even I had my limits. I scoped out the place at night. The cooks had their own quarters, but once you passed through the barriers, there were few boundaries between different sections. 

I learned the names of important people: Lan Wangji, Hanguang-jun, the Second Jade; Lan Qiren, the acting Sect Leader; Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch; Lan Sizhui, the adopted child of Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian; and Lan Jingyi, Lan Sizhui’s friend. I decided that the last person was the easiest person to approach.

I was right.

Lan Jingyi was boisterous in a way that reminded me of a certain blonde friend of my brother — my previous incarnate’s brother, that was. I liked spending time with him, and he appreciated me sneaking small portions of fried chickens to him. Somehow, I became acquainted with Wei Wuxian, the Yiling Patriarch. Given that Yiling in the strictest sense no longer had a Patriarch, he was nowadays more often referred to as Hanguang-jun’s husband, a title which he inexplicably adored. He barged into the kitchen one day, demanding to meet the person who put spices in the fried chicken, and then he cried tears of joy. From then on, I was tasked with making food for Wei Wuxian. 

Wei Wuxian liked me because Lan Wangji’s cool gaze did not scare me. There weren’t a lot of things that could scare me. I had slit far too many throats for that. Being good acquaintances with Wei Wuxian had its benefits — the man could not close his mouth. He would chat nonstop whenever he wanted to hide from the Lan elders. I learned perhaps too much about his private life than I cared, but he appreciated my listening. I did not judge him, claiming that I didn’t pay much attention to world news when he was still the Yiling Patriarch. In my heart I knew I was not in a position where I could judge him — in my past life I had done far worse deeds. 

He reminded me of a friend I had killed. My cousin.

I counted down the days to my death. I felt a sense of relief. Perhaps this time I could rest. If I reincarnated again, I hoped that my next life would not be burdened with memories. I wanted to be a blank slate. On bad days I had wondered if I was doomed to carry the weight of my crimes forever. I wondered if I was a coward for choosing the easy way out. On good days I had thought about what I would do if I were free. I found that being a cook suited me. If life was better, perhaps I could do this for the rest of my life. I would make sweets for the children. I would brew tea and chat. I would enjoy the little things in life. 

Alas, judgment day came. 

By then I already memorized the layout of the Cloud Recesses. There was a banquet that night, in memory of fallen comrades in the Burning. I was busy and exhausted, but the atmosphere was so chaotic that when I claimed sickness, no one batted an eye. I was gone for three hours.

In these three hours I climbed my way to the residence of one Zewu-jun who was still in seclusion. I brought with me two knives and a large wooden bucket. The bucket was so people noticed that I was a servant and therefore ignored me.

The Hanshi was surrounded by bamboo trees, and their leaves rustled sharply under the cloudy night. Heavy mist drowned out most sounds. I entered through the back entrance of the bathroom, and any noise I made should be expected. Servants often prepared baths through this door, and it was about time when Zewu-Jun would take a bath anyway. I filled up the tub, then pretended to leave. I waited.

A long time after, a slight swish sounded. Zewu-jun left his bed and patted his way slowly toward the bathroom. I thought that I should pity this man. His life was not an easy one. Sworn brothers all drenched in the blood of one another. It was a tragic ordeal overall. I thought about the blood on my hand and scoffed. Perhaps I could relate, perhaps I could not. My actions were my own, even though circumstances had forced me until I had no other options left — at least, that was what it seemed like at the time. In my new life I had a different perspective and was distant enough to realize how much I had been manipulated, how rash and idiotic I had been, but what was done was done. 

I peeked out. Zewu-jun did not look well. I wasn’t the most mentally sound person but even I knew that locking yourself inside would only drive you insane. For a normal person this was already hard to do. For a man with a tumultuous mind it was a recipe for disaster. For all the good that cultivation had done, seclusion after a traumatic event had to be one of the worst ideas to ever be accepted. I would know. I didn’t seclude myself, but I had been alone for a long time before I joined an international criminal organization.

Lan Xichen, Zewu-jun was a graceful man. Even when he was gaunt and even when the shadows under his eyes stood in dark contrast against his pale skin, he still bore an air of elegance rarely seen in anyone. He was beautiful in an untouchable way, like a piece of artifact too precious to be touched. Nothing could harm it, so in the end it broke by itself. He undressed down into his undergarments, and I watched. It was impolite, of course, but I didn’t want to be caught off guard by anything when I killed him.

He came inside, and I lunged. A clean line through the neck. He flinched and staggered back. I hadn’t pressed deep enough — I thought maybe it was because I didn’t really want to kill him. I had seen enough people worry about him that the feelings transferred, and I hated to see his story end this way. Dead, by an unknown assassin. 

No, I could not be distracted. I pushed forward and we both fell on the ground, with my legs straddling his abdomen. The knife was on his neck again. His hand formed half a seal to call for his sword, but it was frozen midway. I didn’t slash. We stared at each other for a moment or two, which felt like eternity. There was acceptance in his eyes. Regret. Relief. He wanted to die too. He didn’t think he deserved to be alive, after his brothers were gone, both by his hands. 

I didn’t like that. There was no satisfaction in killing a man who wanted to be dead.

Suddenly, I didn’t want to be executed for killing a man whom I didn’t even want to kill in the first place. I was stupid for taking on this mission, stupid for thinking death was my release. During that brief moment of hesitation my perspective shifted: Why should people suffer for  _ my  _ punishment? Why would I inflict yet another tragedy to seek my own release? It was a silly mindset to have — an effect, I was sure, of my past incarnate. I liked to think that I was smarter than that man, but I wasn’t. Not really.

Zewu-jun was bleeding. A lot. At this rate he might just bleed to death, because I did nick his artery. I wondered why he didn’t just stop it — I’d heard about the miraculous properties of spiritual energy and cultivation, so I thought this should be an easy task for him. Apparently not. 

Oh my, he was turning pale. My knife was still pressing on his throat, drawing more blood. Stupid, stupid me. I retracted my blade and his eyes widened in surprise. I clicked my tongue. Then, I stood up. He made no motion to move. Smart. He’d bleed more if he moved. He closed his eyes, and the bleeding slowed. It slowed but did not stop, so I rummaged around for pieces of white fabric. I found some in a medical kit, and I wrapped them around his throat. I might have damaged his vocal cord, but I wasn’t sure. But I knew he wasn’t going to die. I lit an oil lamp.

“Sorry,” I said. Sorry for almost killing you. “Wasn’t personal.” I didn’t know how much that would help me. I probably should be running away now, but I didn’t. It wasn’t that I wanted to be caught. It was more like I wanted to make sure Zewu-jun survived this night. Slowly, he sat up, long fingers touching his throat gently. Blood smeared everywhere on his white robes and his hair. I stood there, arms crossed. He was healing himself quite nicely. 

Inexplicably, I stayed. He kept his eyes on me, and I realized that I liked that. I liked that a lot, and then I felt mortal shame for liking that. What the fuck? Why was my professionalism failing me now? And I couldn't even blame myself that much because honestly, who _wouldn't_ want to be looked at by Zewu-jun? Come on, he was the top cultivator bachelor?

I broke eye contact and glanced around his house. I didn’t know what to say except that it was a sad place. It was bare like he had moved to a new place and hadn’t bothered to unpack. The whole room — house? — was drenched in shades of gray. There were probably some blues here and there, but in the dark of the night they might as well be nonexistent. The floor was wood of a lighter color, and the walls were white. It was like the house was built specifically for mourning. But I supposed Zewu-jun, in a way,  _ was _ mourning. 

By the time I looked back, he was gripping his sword.

“Why?” he asked, voice hoarse. It was the first time I ever heard him speak, so I regretted a little that I had injured him. I’d heard rumors about his lilting voice, his soothing tone, et cetera et cetera, but I guessed I ruined my chance at experiencing that now.

“Why didn’t I kill you?” 

He nodded.

“I realized that I was making a stupid decision,” I answered. “And I didn’t want to kill a suicidal man.”

He flinched at that accusation — but really, was it an accusation if I was only stating facts? There were different kinds of suicidal people. He and I were the same kind: We didn’t actively harm ourselves, but we didn’t really actively try to live either. We hoped something would happen and conveniently end our lives for us — I’d seen it a lot in my past life, in the eyes of broken soldiers who had lost themselves in wartime. It was miserable. 

“Why didn’t you kill me?” I asked in return. 

His eyes flinched instinctively toward his hand, and he didn’t look like he was aware of how tight he was gripping the handle. I swore he was about to drop it, but he didn’t. 

I twirled my knife in my hand, waiting. I used to be less, well, less twitchy and active. Being energetic is bad for business — my sort of business. A full lifetime of control and suppression sickened me though — quite literally too — so I didn’t spend so much effort keeping myself in check anymore. Plus, people here weren’t really familiar with the kind of stealth and deception I was once a master of. I could cut myself some slack. 

“It is unnecessary now,” he replied. 

“Because I didn’t kill you or because I can’t kill you?” I asked. I wondered if he knew I didn’t have spiritual energy. Maybe he just assumed I could hide it well. If I had spiritual energy — actually, no, I didn’t want to have spiritual energy, because then I would’ve been recruited into that war a decade or so back.

Lan Xichen sighed. He didn’t respond. He asked me to leave the place, pulling his under robes closer to his body. 

Well, I totally forgot that he was about to take a bath. 

I didn’t clear my throat, but I did avert my eyes again. Funny how the air got all awkward when shortly before we thought only one of us would survive this encounter. 

“If you’re not going to arrest me or anything,” I said, “I’ll take my leave.”

That  _ really  _ brought him back to reality — gosh, what the heck was going through his head if he forgot he could’ve signaled someone up here and had them throw me in prison? Honestly! 

“Please,” he said, polite and all. To his credit, he didn’t bow his head or open the door for me or pour me tea, but still, this had got to be the strangest encounter I’d ever had with my victims, both in this life and in my past life. He was still so polite. I wished I could punch that mask off — he acted so much like me that I wanted to yell and rave at him, to tell him that this wasn’t going to work, and the only way it was going to work is for him to decide: one, how much blame should he carry, and two, how much time he needs to sort out himself. There had to be a deadline. If you don’t have a deadline, you never work toward a goal. And then you keep lingering in that liminal, in-between space, unsure of who you are, unsure if you should be yourself-of-before or someone new entirely. 

(The answer is both, by the way. Mix and match.) 

I nodded and went back out the way I entered. His gaze followed me. Before I exited, I told him, “I work in the kitchen, if you want to stop by tomorrow.”

Well, forget punching his face — I wanted to punch  _ myself _ for saying that. I might as well start naming off every person I’d killed before too. 

After I said that I ran away. I ran like hell was chasing me. Holy shit, I never thought I could get dumber than traumatizing my brother to the point of insanity so he could get stronger and kill me. But I did. 

I seriously thought that Lan Xichen needed to talk to someone. And I seriously thought that person should be me. Of everyone in this entire world I was the  _ least  _ qualified to talk about murders. 

Maybe it’s the thought that counts?

I went back to my room in the servants’ quarters. My roommates were snoring happily away; one of them kind of groaned a little bit like he was having a wet dream, so I resolutely blocked that from my ears. The only thing I had to do was hide my knife away. Then I . . . 

Then I thought about the white cloth that I wrapped around Lan Xichen’s neck. And after that I tried to sleep. 

I didn’t pack and leave. Let me say that again: I was made, and I  _ didn’t leave.  _

Did I have a death wish? Yes, maybe. We established that.

Did I think I’d be dragged into prison in less than four hours? Oh, definitely. The Lans had a thing for not killing, so I’d be questioned and maybe beaten a little bit — or maybe they could force-feed me a truth serum. Did cultivators have mind-reading tricks? I should’ve probably looked into that before I took on the assignment, but hindsight is twenty-twenty, always. 

I didn’t know what I was doing anymore. I was in uncharted territory. I was terrified to be alive. 

So I took Lan Jingyi’s advice and thought about fried chicken as I fell asleep.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> DID YOU ENJOY IT?


End file.
